


Strangers When We Meet

by Darby_Harper



Series: Grace Under Pressure [2]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Holidays, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Same-Sex Marriage, Slashfic Rammstein Style, slashy goodness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7784392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darby_Harper/pseuds/Darby_Harper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How it all began for Richard and Christoph.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _**Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual person is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person). All rights reserved**_
> 
>  
> 
> For all you fans of my OTP. Title of story comes from the David Bowie song of the same name, from his album _“The Buddha of Suburbia.”_

 

::::

[1]

Snow was falling heavily that Christmas Eve, covering Berlin in a sparkling blanket of pure white fluff. The street was almost deserted save for the few hardy souls who were making their way home, or to holiday parties around the city. The weather report had called for at least a foot of snow before the morning, which was unusual for Germany, and from the way the snow was coming down, there was no doubt the estimate would prove correct.

High up in the warm confines of an old apartment building, the homey dimness of a turned-down lamp outlined a figure dressed in head to toe black sitting in a bedroom window. It glistened on the figure’s chin-length mess of black curls, picking out the bronze and honey tones within the onyx. The person’s dark blue-green eyes shimmered with excitement as they watched the snow fall; breathing on the windowpane to create mist, they playfully sketched out a heart with a set of initials inside. With a nod of satisfaction, they turned around to face their lover, who was leaning on the doorframe and smiling ruefully at them. “What’s next, Christoph, carving our initials in a tree in the _Tiergarten?_ ” they asked.

“How do you know I haven’t already?” the man in the window said with a warmly wicked chuckle. “And don’t you dare wipe that off or I’ll short-sheet your side of the bed.”

The other man, who was also in head to toe black, jet-black hair half spiked up and half mussed across his forehead, crossed the room in three long strides and gently “booped” the man he’d called Christoph on the nose. “I still can’t figure out how you can only short-sheet half a bed. That has to be something you and Paul came up with a long time ago.”

“If I told you I’d have to kill you, Richard,” Christoph said, leaning over to kiss the other man on the nose. “And I can’t do that, we haven’t gotten married yet!”

“Patience, dearheart, New Year’s Day is only a few days away. And remember it was _your_ idea to get married on New Year’s Day. _I_ wanted Christmas Day,” Richard replied, pulling Christoph into his arms so he could rest his cheek against his lover’s warm shoulder. They stood in front of the window, gazing out over the darkening city, arms wrapped around each other, lost in the joy and peacefulness that surrounded them.

The dim light on the bedside table gleamed on the metal of an elaborate silver and brass bracelet Christoph wore on his left wrist. As Christoph was a drummer, he didn’t like wearing rings often, so when Richard had gone to pick out something to signify their engagement, the jeweler at the tiny shop in the middle of New York City had suggested a bracelet instead of the ring Richard had originally considered. The carving the bracelet looked like random patterns from a distance; up close, elaborate knotwork wound its way around the circumference of the bracelet.

He’d bought it early in the spring of the year, shortly after they’d attended an industry party in New York City. He’d met a fan there who'd given him the advice that made Richard decide at last to ask Christoph to marry him; at the time, they’d both been unsure about when to set the date much less any of the other formalities of this new phase of their relationship, and for a time Richard was almost convinced that Christoph had taken the proposal as something of a joke, for he hadn’t spoken of that evening since.

However, Richard was quite serious about his proposal, and had set his plans in motion shortly after the early summer portion of their tour. He’d had taken the bracelet to a jeweler in Berlin that came well-recommended to have a special message inscribed inside. Originally, he thought of having it written in German, their native language, but a last minute bit of inspiration had him consulting a friend who was heavily into the works of J.R.R. Tolkien. Inscribed on the inner surface of the heavy bracelet, in a graceful, flowing script, was the line, _“I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the Ages of this world alone”_ in Sindarin. Once the bracelet was done, he arranged for them to spend the weekend at a friend’s hunting cabin several hours out of Berlin. He'd told Christoph that they needed a couple days away from the madness and hustle of the city since they'd come off the tour badly in need of a few days of solitude.

Richard knew how much of a fan Christoph was of the Lord of the Rings and the companion stories, and seeing the shock and disbelief that melted into a shining smile and glistening tears was worth every bit of trouble he’d had getting the bracelet done. He'd looked up at Richard, the bracelet lying in his trembling hands, and said, “Is...are you...is this what I think it is?”

Richard had smiled, taken the bracelet at the same time he took Christoph's left hand. Kneeling gracefully at his feet, Richard said, “Christoph Schneider, my love, my best friend... _Heirate mich? Bitte?”_

The glowing smile Christoph gave Richard outshone the sun. He nodded, shakily, letting Richard carefully slide the bracelet up over his fingers to snuggle it just above his wrist. “I know you're not one for rings, so...”

Christoph pulled Richard to his feet and kissed him, hard, winding his fingers into Richard's spiky hair. The kiss took his breath away; only with a great amount of effort was he able to pull back from Christoph's wonderfully innocent but sinful mouth. “I take it the answer is yes?” he laughed, staggering backward from his sweetheart's attempt to kiss him again.

“It's a yes a hundred times over, you asshole!” Christoph snickered, turning what would have been a clumsy stumble by both of them into a graceful dance step. “I thought I told you that back in the summer. What brought this on?”

Richard hummed softly as he let Christoph guide him across the room to plop down on the overstuffed couch that was placed against the living room wall. “I figured it was time to ask you formally, so there you are. Plus you said something about wanting a holiday wedding, and we're going to be coming up on Christmas and the New Year soon after. No time like the present.”

They sat in silence for a few moments; a chuckle brought Richard out of his daydreaming. Looking over at Christoph, eyebrow raised in a question, he said, “Something funny?”

“I was just thinking of the day we met,” Christoph said, a dreamy smile on his face. “I remember Paul introducing us and thinking you were the prettiest thing I'd met in a long time, and what comes out of my mouth?”

Richard chuckled and said, “Oh yeah, I remember that _very_ well. You looked me up and down, snorted and said, “So you're the famous Richard Kruspe. You're a lot shorter than I thought you were.”

“Oh my God, you would!” Christoph laughed, covering his face with his hands. “You probably thought I was some kind of idiot for saying that! I didn't mean it, I was just kinda amazed that you'd wanted to throw you lot in with the rest of us. And then it took me a week to say more than hi to you again even though we'd decided to form the band.”

Richard ruffled his lover's hair and said, “And I thought you were just being a snob. It took that fight in that bar in...where was it again?”

“I have no idea,” Christoph replied, leaning against Richard. “I remember it was probably the worst place I'd ever played in, the bathroom was a bush outside the back door and that was when we discovered why Ollie wore those boots he did. Not because they were fashionable but they had steel plates in the toes! Good thing he did, or kicking down the back door of that dive would have taken Paul and me a month!”

“And I got to see what you were like if you were good and angry,” Richard said. “Damn, but you're gorgeous when you're out of your mind like that. Bloody force of nature, you are.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

“Yes, I do, don't I?”

“And if I remember, it was your trying to sweet-talk the bar owner's girlfriend into a quickie is what got us into that mess, wasn't it?” Christoph teased, poking Richard in the ribs until he giggled and shoved him off. Sprawling across the couch, Richard comfortably tucked in Christoph's arms, he closed his eyes and let his memory wander back.

:::

_Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, nineteen-ninety-something_

Richard watched as Till began to lean against the wall of the curtained-off niche that was laughingly called the dressing room, made a face at the dampness that was trickling down the badly plastered walls and moved away before he got his stage clothes wet. Not that it would matter much, within five minutes of their set’s beginning, Till would be drenched in sweat that would only dry in the heat of their pyrotechnics.

“Ugh. Any idea where Paul and Ollie are?” Till asked, finally perching himself on the edge of the room's only chair. It creaked alarmingly under his weight; but then again it did underneath Flake's slight weight. Till ignored it and gnawed on a hangnail as Richard slid his guitar over his back so he could lean around the curtain and not be seen. He spotted Christoph standing in the doorway of the ramshackle building, hands flailing wildly as he talked to Paul. Ollie was making his way through the crowd that was drunkenly dancing to the canned music coming from a set of ancient, crackling speakers hung precariously from the ceiling, Flake right behind him. They looked so out of place with their costumes that had been designed and made by Christoph's sister, Constance, and for a moment Richard wondered how smart that was to be dressed as they were and not like the crowd. If things went badly, they'd be easy to spot. He'd been there a few times before in his old bands and it hadn't been pretty.

Ollie slipped behind the curtain, nodding his thanks to Richard as he winnowed past. Flake did the same, murmuring something under his breath about going to swat Christoph for being drunk before the show was even started. Till heard this and sighed, “Am I gonna need to break up a fight?”

“I hope not,” Flake replied, accepting a bottle of beer from Richard, who'd been using a wheezing, barely-working chest freezer as a seat to be out from underfoot as he tuned up. “So far Schneider's being friendly and all, but this crowd doesn't think a lot of anyone who was in the military. If he blabs about having served, you might.”

“What's got him burying his face in the bottle so early?” came Paul's voice as he stormed behind the curtain, misty, blue-grey eyes snapping with anger. “I swear, I turn my back to take a piss and he's working on a spectacular drunk. If he's not back here in five minutes I'm going out there and drag him back here by his ears.”

Richard handed Paul his guitar which had been placed on the freezer along with his for safekeeping. They'd tuned up earlier, and Richard had volunteered to stay behind and guard their equipment while the rest of the band had a drink and scoped out the crowd. Paul accepted it with a smile and a squeeze on Richard's biceps, saying, “Thanks, Reesh. I figured you'd be out there getting a look at the…ahem… local scenery.”

Richard shook his head, shoving a handful of guitar picks into his pants pocket before replying. “Didn't feel like it. Do you want me to go fetch Doom or wait?”

Before anyone could speak, Christoph popped into the tiny cubicle, eyes suspiciously bright in the low lights. His skin was flushed, and a light sheen of sweat glistened on his cheekbones. Richard found himself staring at their drummer, gobsmacked at how gorgeous he looked. Even with his crappy haircut and that still-not-grown-into clumsiness of his middle twenties, Christoph was gorgeous to Richard's eyes. He looked nothing like the nickname he'd acquired, “Doom.” Unless it was some harbinger of things to come? Richard had no idea. All he knew was that he'd found himself trying very hard not to stare at their drummer, tried not to find ways to be around him constantly, tried very hard to deny the occasional dream that left him aching and ashamed in the morning. His green-blue eyes were dilated, ringed in thick black lines of cheap eyeliner, and he stared at Richard as if he knew what he was thinking. He blinked, slowly, then said, “Sorry, sorry. Got to talking to some interesting people. _Very_ interesting, if you know what I mean,” he said, pretending to sniff a line of coke. Till rolled his eyes, sighed, and said, “If you're too fucked up to play I'm going to drag you outside and hold you down in that water barrel we parked next to until you sober up or drown, I don't care which.”

Christoph stepped into Till's space, raising his chin and glaring at their singer down his lovely, aristocratic nose. Till, despite his looks and build, wasn't one for going around starting fights. If anything, he was more likely to be the one trying to stop it by dragging the combatants apart. And a good portion of the time, it was Paul and Richard getting dragged out of fights, more so Paul than Richard. Ollie and Flake weren't remiss in holding up their ends of a fight, but when Christoph lost his temper, it was terrifying. It was as if all the anger he had from his years of frustration with his life and what he wanted to do for a living welled up behind a dam and sometimes, it wasn't strong enough to keep the anger from finding a crack and boiling out. It let off the pressure, that was for sure, but at the cost of busted knuckles, bruises, and the occasional broken bone. Till had a bad temper himself, and knew the effort it took him sometimes to keep it leashed. He took a step back and said in a low, gentle voice, “I'm not being a prick. We just can't afford you to be fucked up like this before a gig. Especially here.”

“I'm a professional. Of course I'll be all right,” Christoph replied in a hard, brittle voice. “The day I can't have a little fun and not be able to play a show is the day you get to bury me. Until then, I appreciate the caution but don't ever insinuate that I can't play after I've had a line, a drink, whatever.” He slowly pushed Till aside, snatching up the gig bag of drumsticks he'd hung from a peg in the wall and left via the side of the curtain that was near their equipment. Flake watched him go, shaking his head. Ollie, who was the most even tempered person in the band, threw up his hands and snatched his bass from where it lay on the chest freezer and followed their drummer out. Till sighed, took a deep breath and muttered to no one in particular, “Let’s get this shitshow over and done with.”

Happily enough, the show went very well. The audience responded very well to the band; a few crowd members had been to their previous shows and knew the lyrics to their songs and gleefully screamed along. Richard kept one eye on Christoph the entire night, hoping that his earlier behavior wouldn’t spill over and affect his playing. He didn’t need to worry, for Christoph seemed to channel his unrest and aggression into his drumming and nothing else. He did scream a lot louder than he usually did when he sang along with some of their songs, but other than that, it was business as usual.

As soon as their set was over, Christoph vanished, leaving the rest of the band and their two roadies to do the teardown of the set. Till rolled his eyes at Paul and Flake’s dire threats as to what they were going to do to their errant drummer and set about disassembling Christoph’s kit. Richard lent him a hand when he was done with his own chores, biting his tongue and not wanting to ask Till if he had any clue as to why Christoph was in such a mood. Just as he was winding up his courage to ask, Till looked around, made sure there was no one in earshot and murmured, “Do you have any idea what’s up Schneider’s ass?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Richard replied just as quietly. While the band had been together for over a year, Richard was sometimes still unsure as to where he stood with Christoph. They came from two different worlds, both socially and musically, and sometimes Richard wondered if he’d ever feel as at ease around Christoph as he did with the others, even though he lived with Paul, Flake and Christoph. As he stood up, hands full of screws and wing nuts, he heard a voice from behind him say, “You might want to go rescue your drummer from the…er…bathroom. He’s passed out and is gonna get pissed on, and I doubt any of you want to ride home with him if he does.”

Richard turned around to see a pretty red-haired woman standing behind him, dark eye makeup smeared and neon pink lipstick bleeding around the edges. She was flushed and somewhat windblown, her black t-shirt and jeans clinging to her shapely form. Richard recognized her as one of the few women in the front row from earlier that night and smiled down at her, interest blooming warmly in his chest.

“Thanks,” he replied, dumping the hardware he had in his hands into the drawstring bag Christoph kept it in. “I’ll go rescue him. You’re absolutely right, I don’t want to spend three hours in a tiny van with a piss-soaked, passed out drummer in the back.”

“I’ll go get him,” Till growled. “I think I might just carry out my threat from earlier and shove him in that water barrel. If I’m not back in ten minutes, you might wanna come find out if we still have a drummer.” With that, Till excused himself and vanished out the back door, leaving Richard to stand awkwardly alone with the pretty redhead. She watched Till leave, then turned to Richard, saying, “I’m Melinda. I didn’t know you weren’t with Orgasm Death Gimmick anymore. You guys were good but this band is a whole lot better.”

“I hope we are,” Richard replied, leaning against the edge of the tiny, rickety stage. “And thank you for the compliment. Can I buy you a drink?”

“You sure can!” Melinda chirped, leading Richard to the bar. As they sat down, he saw Ollie and Paul over Melinda’s shoulder; Ollie with an eyebrow raised and Paul giving him a thumb’s up. As usual, Flake was nowhere to be seen, but that was par for the course for their keyboard player. Dragging his attention back to Melinda, Richard threw back the shot of whiskey, wincing at the burn as it went down. Melinda laughed, saying, “That’s pure Macallan, none of that watered down shit you get here. Takes a bit getting used to but it’s good.”

Richard wiped his streaming eyes and coughed, the burn becoming a pleasant warmth in his stomach. He waved the bartender over and ordered another shot for both of them, sliding happily into flirty banter with Melinda, totally forgetting the incident with Christoph earlier that night. Things were going very, very well; Richard had just asked Melinda if she wanted to “step outside for a moment” when suddenly a hand the size of a shovel clapped itself onto his shoulder. A wave of stale smoke, booze and the fug of an unwashed body hit Richard like a freight train, making him sneeze. Melinda made a strangled yelping sound and shot off of her stool as if she’d been fired from a cannon, her eyes wide and looking very guilty. The heavy hand spun Richard around to face its owner; between the motion of being spun around and getting a look at the person who’d done it, Richard had to bite down a wave of nausea.

“Are you hitting on my woman, you little fuck?”

It was the bar owner. He was almost as tall as Ollie and built like Till, only he was bulked up quite a bit more than their singer. He was one of the ugliest people Richard had ever seen, from his no-color, piggish eyes to a face that looked like it had been smashed in more than once. He was bald as a cue ball and his skin was a sickening white with a greenish undertone. Streaks of black and blue along his huge hands, knuckles and arms might have once been tattoos, but were now so blurred they looked like he had some kind of horrible skin disease. His name was Joe and he was known around the gig circuit as one of the meanest, most miserly and cruel person around. Most bands avoided his bar like the plague but the band had been desperate for a gig, so they’d ignored the warnings and had set up the gig with him over the phone. Richard felt his stomach drop into his shoes as Joe pulled him closer, the man’s stench even worse at close range.

“I asked you, pretty boy, if you were hitting on my woman!” Joe snapped, lifting Richard up by the front of his shirt and shaking him like a terrier shaking a rat. “I saw you gettin’ all flirty and shit with her, don’t lie and say you weren’t!”

“Joe…” Melinda began, grabbing one of the man’s huge biceps and tugging on it, which did nothing to lessen the chokehold he had on Richard’s shirt. “We were just talking, nothing else. Why are you like this? Keep this up and nobody will come here ever again!”

“Shut up Melinda!” Joe snapped, shaking Richard once and nearly giving him whiplash. “You were gonna go fuck this pretty boy behind my back, just like you’ve done before. I’m gonna beat the shit out of you after I get finished with this prick.” He lifted Richard up higher, grinning nastily when Richard struggled to catch his breath. Even through the red haze of asphyxiation, Richard wound himself up to be ready to fight when a too-calm voice crackled above the murmur of the crowd.

“That’s my friend you’re attempting to shake the shit out of. I’d put him down, _now_ , if you don’t want your bar taken apart piece by piece.”

Christoph stood behind Joe, blue-green eyes blazing with anger, every inch of his body tense and shaking. Till, Paul and Ollie were behind him and Flake was sidling around the patrons gathered to see what was going to happen, eventually planting himself on Richard’s left side. Joe let go of Richard, slowly, as he met Christoph’s eyes, then the rest of the bands’. Paul was almost as insanely angry as Christoph, hands balled into fists and fairly dancing in place with the need to fight, while Ollie and Till looked almost bored by the whole affair. Richard slumped back against the bar, wheezing from having most of his wind cut off by the tight neckline of his shirt, and waited for the explosion.

“Ooo, big brave words from a sweet little thing like you,” Joe snarled, turning his wrath onto Christoph, who didn’t move an inch. “Whatcha gonna do, spit on me? You stupid punk bands are all alike. I don’t know what the fuck made me let you have this gig but I swear to God you won’t play here or anywhere else again!”

“When I get done with you, you’re gonna wish I’d spit on you!” Christoph growled, flinging himself at the huge man and landing a punch to his face that flattened his barely-visible nose, He didn’t give Joe a chance to swing back, Christoph was like a hurricane of rage, landing kicks, punches and even a savage bite to the back of the big man’s arm when it got too close. People began leaving the bar in a hurry save for the brave few that wanted to see the outcome of the fight including Melinda, who shot Richard an apologetic glance before slipping into the night.

“Damn it, Chris, lay off!” Till yelled, grabbing their drummer around the waist and trying to pull him free and not even budging him. “Ah fuck, you little shit! Don’t you fucking kick me!” he shouted when Christoph spared enough attention from the ass-beating he was dealing out to Joe to kick Till in the knee. “Ollie! Are we loaded up and ready to go?” Till shouted.

“Yeah, but some dumbass locked the back door from the outside!” Ollie yelled. “Unless you wanna go out a window…”

Richard hurled himself off of the bar stool, Paul hot on his heels, and began kicking the door with all their might. It was made of thin, cheap wood and began to bend and crack slightly under their assault, but it was slow going. Everyone knew the police would be along shortly and even with Germany no longer being separated into two countries, the old feelings towards the police were hard to shake. Richard looked around the bar to see if he could find something like a fire ax to attack the door with when Ollie came barging through the small crowd, Till and Flake dragging a protesting, bloodied Christoph with them. He shoved Richard and Paul aside and took aim at the door, kicking it wide open with one hard blow. The band tumbled out into the cold night, piled into the tiny van that held all their equipment and costumes, and left the scene with a roar and squealing tires.

While Ollie maneuvered the old van down the bumpy back road that would eventually come out onto the Autobahn, Till, Paul and Flake attempted to hold Christoph down long enough to see if any of the blood that was spattered across his face and clothes was his. He was still in a blind rage, kicking and striking out at anyone, anything, that came into range. Richard finally grabbed hold of his hair and screamed into his face, “Settle the fuck down, Schneider, or I’m gonna hand you your ass on a plate!”

Their eyes met and for a very long moment, the world faded away. Richard was lost, mesmerized at how beautiful Christoph was up close, even in the throes of black rage. He was aristocratic, savage, handsome and gorgeous, all at the same time, and Richard felt himself grow instantly hard as they stared at each other, dark blue-grey eyes staring into dark green and sapphire. They were close enough to kiss, close enough that they could feel the heat of each other’s breath; it would take no effort at all to close that tiny gap and lose themselves in the heat of each other’s mouth.

“Let me up, please,” Christoph husked, raising a bloody, trembling hand to push Richard away. “I’m…I’m done.”

“You gonna behave?” Till growled, a look in his eyes that would have set other people’s knees to knocking. Christoph nodded slowly, smiling wanly at Paul and Flake. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose my temper like that.”

“At least you didn’t kick me,” Paul said, handing Christoph a damp paper towel to wipe his hands on. Red, raw abrasions decorated his knuckles, while a bruise was beginning to form under his left eye. He had a split lip which he dabbed at with the towel and hissed when it reopened the split. He pulled up his shirt and examined his chest which had some bruises on it, and said, “I’m sorry I kicked you, Till.” The singer made a grumbling noise and sat back in his seat, closing his eyes and falling asleep almost instantly. Paul helped Christoph lie down on a pile of blankets they used to cover the drums with and once he was settled, crawled up through the equipment and sat down next to Richard. Flake had wiggled up to ride shotgun, leaving Richard and Paul relatively alone.

“I have no clue what set Schneider off like that, do you?” Paul whispered, shrugging into his jacket and pulling the hood up over his hair. Richard shook his head, saying, “I don’t know and I can honestly say I never want that rage pointed at me. I thought he was going to kill Joe.”

Paul nodded. “I’ve only seen him that angry once before and it was days before he settled down. He got into it with his parents over something and it’s a miracle they didn’t call the cops on him, he was so upset. That was before you moved in with us, I think.”

Richard gnawed his lower lip and tried to remember if he’d been witness to Christoph’s rage before and gave up when he couldn’t come up with anything. Instead of replying, he pulled his jacket closer and closed his eyes, troubled by the still-lingering feeling of Christoph’s breath on his lips and the blown pupiled, very aroused look in those almost bottomless greeny-blue eyes.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

:::

“You never did tell me what made you so mad that night.”

 Christoph sighed and gently ran his fingers through Richard’s hair, saying, “I’d had a fight with my father that afternoon before we left for the show. He’d started to suspect I wasn’t exactly straight, and he called me on the carpet for it. Don’t tell Paul, but remember when we were all living together and the phone that was in the kitchen mysteriously vanished?”

 Richard nodded, remembering the hours-long search they’d had to find the missing phone. In the end, they’d given it up as a lost cause, yet another in a laundry list of things that had vanished out of that particular apartment.

 “Well…I threw it against the wall in my room and it broke into a million pieces,” Christoph said, with a rueful snort. “Good thing I had that horrible, tie-dyed tapestry Constance made me take when I moved out so I could cover up the hole until I got it fixed. We moved out a month after that and I never got the hole fixed, plus that’s where I stuck the pieces of the phone.”

 Richard choked back a laugh, unsure if Christoph would take his laughter the wrong way. Instead, he managed a straight face and said, “I thought your parents knew from when you were barely a teenager that you weren’t straight. Or at least that’s what I assumed.”

 “They suspected but it didn’t become a problem till I started running with Paul and Flake,” Christoph replied. “And you know Aljoscha was, any hole was a good one. Mum caught me kissing Paul one afternoon and well…and it was just a friendly kiss!”

 Richard reached up and took his lover’s hand, knowing how much hurt Christoph still held over his parents’ refusal to accept that their son was in a committed relationship with not only a man, but one they didn’t approve of in the first place. No one in the band had ever been easy around Christoph’s parents, especially Till, whose tolerance of idiots was as thin as tissue paper. Only having Constance as a go-between and shield for years kept Christoph from completely cutting his parents off.

 “Do you know that was the night I fell in love with you?” Christoph asked after a few moments of silence. “You grabbed me by my hair and screamed in my face, told me to shut up or you’d beat the shit out of me. I remember I looked up into your eyes and just…I’d never realized your eyes were so pretty up until then. I knew by then that I was bi, and I hoped like hell you were too.”

 Richard smiled and kissed Christoph’s fingers. “I think I fell in love with you the second I met you. I envied all that fluffy, curly hair you had, for one. And how shy you were until we got to know each other well, that was deathly sexy.”

 “Really?” Christoph said, twisting about so he could look Richard in the eye. “I was terrified I’d say something out of line and you’d smack me across the house! You thought I was _shy?_ _”_

 “Well, yeah. You spoke even less than Till did back then!” Richard exclaimed. “I was gonna bet Ollie a hundred Euro to see who spoke more often, you or Till. Of course, once you got over being...whatever...you never shut up!”

 “Hey!” Christoph snort-laughed. “I don't talk _that_ much. Paul talks more than all of us put together. And he can't keep a secret to save his life, either.”

 Richard groaned and covered his eyes. “He certainly wouldn't have been anyone's choice to be a secret agent or a spy, that's for damn sure. But if he could keep a secret, I'd never have found out that you had feelings for me!”

 Christoph smiled down into Richard's eyes and said, “Oh, you would have found out eventually...”

 :::

_On the set of the_ _“_ _Mein Teil_ _”_ _video, Germany, 2004_

 “Holy shit, Doom, you look just like your sister!”

 I looked up from where I was watching the makeup tech put another coat of coral nail polish on my nails and saw Paul coming into the dressing room. He trotted across the floor, barefoot and dressed in shorts and a t-shirt that was three sizes too big for him. I had to bite a laugh back because I recognized that shirt; it was one of Till's that had somehow migrated from Till's closet to Paul's sometime during one of our past tours. He flopped down in an overstuffed chair next to me and propped his feet up on the edge of the makeup table, inspecting me even further.

 “I'm not kidding. If Constance was here and sitting next to you I wouldn't be able to tell you apart,” Paul continued, picking up an unused bottle of crimson nail polish and rolling it idly between his palms. “And you're not completely in costume yet!”

 As much as I didn't want to agree with Paul, he was right. Change the wig's color a bit, maybe lighten my skin down a shade and I'd be Constance's twin sister. Of course, he was nice enough not to say that I also looked just like our mother which would have pissed me off. My parents and I were on speaking terms off and on as long as I didn't talk about the band or bring any non-female dates around. Since I wasn't dating anyone (and not sleeping with anyone either), I'd been able to go over to their house and at least have polite conversations with them. And of course having Constance there to run interference helped.

 “How’d dinner with your parents go on Thursday?” Paul asked, uncapping the bottle of nail polish and beginning to paint his toenails. “Ollie said he talked to you that evening and you weren’t real happy with how it turned out but didn’t say anything else. Wanna talk about it?”

 “There’s nothing to tell,” I said, blowing carefully on the fingernails the makeup tech had just finished painting. “Mom asked me if I’d met any ‘nice’ girls, I told her I was too busy to even go to the bathroom and she called me a smart-ass. Of course it didn’t help that she overheard me telling Constance about going drinking with Richard when he got in from New York on Sunday. He is _really_ fucked up over his divorce.”

 “Tell me about it,” Paul said with a deep sigh. He and Richard were thick as thieves, and Paul hadn’t been too happy when Richard had announced he was getting married to Caron. They hadn’t known each other all that long, but Richard claimed he’d fallen head over heels in love with her and she with him. Paul and I had gone to the wedding but I could tell there was something wrong that only one of us in the band could see.

 Richard wasn’t happy. At all. If you see any of the photos from the wedding, it’s clearly visible now but back then, not many people could. I’d barely had time to wish them congratulations; Caron’s family had kept her and Richard as far away from Paul and me as they could without causing a scene. By the time the reception was over, Paul was fuming mad and I’d had to drag him out of the place before he exploded and told Caron’s family off. Thankfully, Richard’s mum was kind enough to get him away from the crowd long enough for Paul and me to wish him luck and happiness.

 On our way back to my house, he’d exploded as I guessed he would. Once he managed to get his temper in hand, he hissed, “What in the fuck is Reesh thinking? He barely knows Caron, for one, and two, every time they’re together they fight like cats and dogs! She can barely stand us, Till loathes her and Flake has mentioned several times that he’d like to kick her off the _Fernsehturm_ and in front of a cement truck!”

 “Paul, if they’re happy together, then so be it,” I said. “Not everyone in the world has a marriage like you and Arielle. Maybe all that fighting is the warm-up for wild, kinky sex.”

 “Thank you _so_ much Christoph, I really needed that mental Polaroid I’ll never get rid of,” Paul snorted. “You weren’t around the last time they really went at it. Reesh and I were coming back from sound check and Caron met us at the front door of the hotel. She was already mad but when she saw the two of us, she went nuclear.”

 I shuddered, remembering my own encounter with Richard’s ex-wife when they’d been married a couple of years and she’d seemed to finally mellow around us in the band, or at least learned how to hide her dislike. Well, her dislike of everyone else but me. She had it out for me and good, and I wasn’t sure why. I’d made the mistake of bumping into her backstage one evening, and that had been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

 If I’d been taught never to hit a woman, I’d have beaten the crap out of her. When she got done tearing me a new one for bumping into her and nearly causing her to fall, I wished I was a woman so I _could_ have beaten her up and not gotten into too much trouble. She knew she’d hit her mark when she snapped, “I’ve seen you making calf-eyes at Richard, you…wanna be tranny. I swear to God, if I ever catch you putting the moves on him, I’ll fucking bury you. God, you’re so pathetic, I don’t know what he sees in you as a friend or otherwise.”

 So, for the sake of my friendship with Richard and wanting to keep life within the band as stress-free as possible, I made sure never to be caught in a room alone with Richard, and as far out of Caron’s way as humanly possible. Even if it meant hiding from her, which I did a lot of. Richard was hurt and confused when I suddenly wouldn’t go out after a show with him if it were just the two of us, and if he tried to hug me onstage, I’d carefully wriggle free. I got a lot of sympathetic looks from Paul and Till, but it didn’t help.

 All of this was for nothing, in the end. I was dating a women I’d met in one of my yoga classes and we’d hit it off nicely. Not quite to the point of having sex, but close enough. We’d gone out to dinner one night at a restaurant that was prized for its beautifully romantic atmosphere and had run into Richard. When I’d asked where Caron was, the happiness at seeing me drained out of his eyes. My date excused herself to the ladies’ room, leaving us to meander over to a quiet corner to talk.

 “Are you here by yourself or are you here with Caron?” I asked, looking over Richard’s shoulder to see if she was anywhere nearby. He shook his head, looking haunted and old, then said, “She’s here, just off in the ladies. I don’t mean to be a shit but could you and your date kinda…well…hide? She seems like a nice person and I don’t want Caron venting her wrath at her or you.”

 “What the fuck did you do this time, Reesh?” I whispered. “Did you…did she catch you with someone?”

 Richard looked down, the tips of his ears turning red. Oh yeah, I _knew_ that look. Stepping on his toe, I hissed, “For fuck’s sake, that’s no way to try and mend a rift in your relationship, cheating on your wife!”

 “Oh, and you’re such an expert at marriage?” Richard snapped back. “And just how long did _your_ marriage last? I’ve had headaches last longer!”

 I reared back, stunned and hurt by the tone of Richard’s voice. When my marriage a couple years earlier had ended in tears for both myself and my now-ex, Richard had been there to provide a shoulder to cry on and a guardian so I didn’t drink myself to death despite Caron’s threats that I didn’t need a nanny, I needed a swift kick in the balls. He’d been so sweet and considerate, something I guarded closely and told no one else about. I’d lapped up the attention like I was starving and when I was finally able to admit it, I’d ached for that closeness, that caring, and had been searching for it in every woman I met. I hadn’t found it and I was still hurting, still searching and coming up empty-handed.

 “So how old was she?” I hissed. “Was she some groupie you picked up in a bar? Because that’s just your type.”

 Richard was trembling at that point but not from sorrow, but blinding rage. He looked up at me and the anger boiling in his gorgeous eyes made me take a step back from him. He was well and truly angry, and if I’d been smart I’d have apologized and gone back to my date.

 But I didn’t. I plowed straight ahead, taunting Richard, trying to make him mad enough to spill the beans before he could stop himself, but in the end it didn’t work. He shoved me up against the wall, teeth bared in a feral snarl, and said, “It wasn’t a groupie and it wasn’t a woman. That good enough for you? Or are you jealous that it wasn’t you, _Chrissie?_ _”_

 That was fuel on an already out of control fire. I could abide by any nickname but that one wasn’t one of them. I hated to be called that, even jokingly, and I’d nearly broken Till’s nose once when he called me that during an argument. I caught my breath on a snarl of anger, mouth gaping open like a fish on land. It took me a second to shake off the betrayal I was feeling; I pushed Richard off of me and said, “So when did you start playing for the other team? And why would I be jealous of a whore?”

 “He’s not a whore. He’s a friend of mine and thank God you never met him. I can only imagine how bitchy you’d be about him,” Richard muttered. “It was only once and it was out of curiosity, okay? And…Caron caught us. She says if I don’t straighten up and fly right, the divorce will put my ass in the gutter in multiple ways. So I’m trying, okay?”

 You could have knocked me over with a feather. I stared at Richard, seeing the veil of tears on the edge of his eyes, and immediately regretted everything I’d said. Where had our easy, solid as steel friendship gone? A year or two ago, I would have seen the shitstorm coming and discretely offered help; not only did I not see the mess he was in, I didn’t see the lost, hungry look in his eyes when we looked at each other.

 Ever since that night years ago where I’d grabbed Richard by his hair and screamed in his face, I’d kept a tiny flame alight in my heart for him. I treasured every time we did something together, band-related or not, every time we’d drunkenly fallen asleep in the same bed, hugged, anything, even the smallest thing. And I’d go to my grave before I’d admit he was prominent in my dreams and fantasies…and that I’d called out his name a couple of times when I was having sex with one of my girlfriends. I’d managed to mangle it enough to stay out of trouble but I had.

 Richard opened his mouth to say something but Caron’s calling his name stopped him dead. He leaned into me and said, “We’ll talk about this later.” He caught up with her and vanished into the dining room; my date saw my sickly-pale face and insisted we leave and go home. I let her believe I was coming down with the flu; it was better than the truth.

 I moped around my house for days after that and was still in a foul mood when I walked into the studio we were to be filming the video for “Mein Teil.” I managed a smile for Paul, Flake and Ollie, but Till frowned at me and said, “You look like someone shot your dog.”

 I said nothing until I’d hunted down a sufficiently large cup of black coffee, which I usually didn’t drink, and swallowed half of it with a grimace. Turning about and making sure we were out of earshot, I said, “I ran into Reesh and Caron. He almost stuffed me under the restaurant’s bar to keep her from seeing me; the little shit even had the nerve to ask me to hide! I know she hates us but Jesus fuck, Till, he’s never said…”

 “You didn’t know?”

 “Know what?” I asked. “Till, stop being cryptic and spill it.”

 Till rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Caron filed for divorce a couple weeks ago. That was probably about the time you ran into him at the restaurant. Reesh wouldn’t tell me everything but from what he did say, it’s not going to be a pretty divorce. As if they ever are, but this one is gonna get nasty before it’s over.”

 Not knowing how much Richard had or hadn’t told Till, I said, simply, “They were messing about with other people almost as soon as their honeymoon was over. Pick a reason from that.”

 Till leaned against the wall and hummed to himself for a second. “No, there’s more to it than just that. Caron’s got it in her head that Richard has feelings for someone in the band but no one will spill the beans. On top of that, a little birdie told me she was planning the divorce a couple years ago, right about the time your marriage ended and Richard stayed with you for three months until you got your head on right. I told him when he said they were getting married that he didn’t know much about her, but you know how stubborn he can be. And she really, really hates you. I thought I was number one on her shit list but nope, you are. I don’t know what you did but…damn, Schneider.”

 I opened my mouth to reply when Richard breezed into the room, bright eyed and bushy tailed. He saw me and made a beeline in my direction, yelling happily and grabbing me in a hug that made my ribs creak.

 “Hey Doomie!” he said, brushing a kiss against my cheek. “How long have you been here? I’ve been looking for you.”

 Squeezing a breath out, I grunted, “I just got here, and it’s good to see you too. You look….better…than you did the last time I saw you.”

 I felt Richard’s back stiffen under my fingers and saw a red flush go up his neck. He dropped his arms with a snorted laugh, saying, “Yeah, I was a bit of a prick. Sorry about that.”

 “It’s water under the bridge,” I replied, shooting Till a look that said, _keep your mouth shut._ He raised his eyebrows and hands in a _what did I do_? gesture, then sighed and winnowed past us. I heard our director’s assistant talking to him and asking where the rest of us were so they could have a quick meeting before the shooting started. I dropped the cup of now-cold coffee into a trash can, patted Richard on the back, saying, “Let’s go see what Zoran has planned for us.”

 We weren’t allowed to see what each of us did for the video until the very, very end. Zoran’s idea of us wrestling in a mud pit with water pouring down from above like a thunderstorm sounded great to me, but when I started for the set behind the rest of the band, he stopped me, saying, “No, not you Schneider. Remember, your character is a cold, heartless woman. If you’re in the middle of the mud pit, it won’t work with the rest of the video.”

 “What?” I said, sliding the tailored suit jacket I’d been wearing off, and draping it carefully over on arm. “But…oh come on, Zoran!”

 “Nope. And when you see how I want to finish this video, you’ll understand,” he replied, patting me on the arm. “Remember, you are _Frau_ _Schneider_. You are loved but hated at the same time. You terrify and you tempt. Now shoo, I have to get back to the set.”

 I pouted the entire walk back to my dressing room, ignoring Flake’s “Who peed in your breakfast, Doom?” as I stomped by him (which was not easy to do in heels). I shrugged the costume off, running my fingers gently down each piece as I handed it to the wardrobe mistress. She smiled gently at me, saying, “Your friend was right, you are very striking in women’s clothing.”

 A blush crept up my face as I got a peek at the Polaroids the makeup and costume techs had taken for reference. She was right, I wasn’t half bad when I was done up properly. Paul and I had flirted with drag, him more than me in the beginning, and thankfully Constance had no problem helping her big brother out when it came to dressing like a lady. I’d been her model and dress form more times than I could count as well as her guinea pig when it came to makeup. And I had no problem with any of it, even now. Even after Caron had seen pictures of Richard and I at a Halloween party with me done up as Morticia from the Addams Family and him as Little Bo Peep, arms slung around each other and smiling soppily at the camera.

 My snit-fit faded pretty quickly when I got to see the rest of the band half-killing each other in a makeshift mud pit an hour later. I laughed so hard I ached at their play-fighting that for all the world looked real; at one point Richard caught my eye and winked at me, the bright blueness of his eyes standing out sharply against his mud-splattered skin. That simple wink and following grin made me hard as a rock and I was glad my t-shirt was long enough to cover the tell-tale bulge in my jeans. I wormed my way to the back of the small crowd that filled the soundstage and stayed there in the darkness until my hard-on went away.

 The following day was worse as I spent it in that blasted suit and heels, sweating like a horse under the wig, tights and makeup, trying to stay in character as best I could while we filmed the “dog walk” scene at the end of the video. Richard looked beyond delicious, and watching his ass in those dirty, ragged pants was almost more than I could stand. By the end of the day I was exhausted and staggering; Paul caught me twice as we walked to the parking lot where our cars were at. I leaned against mine, wanting to slide down and plop my butt on the cold ground and fall asleep.

 “Chris, you look like shit,” Paul said, snagging my arm as I turned to unlock the car door. His eyes were troubled, turning their usual mist blue-grey dark. I knew that look and telling him “No, I'm fine,” wouldn’t work. I leaned back against the car door and said, “I’m done in. Can I crash at your house tonight?”

 “Absolutely!” Paul said, a bright smile lighting his face. “Let me give Arielle a shout to let her know you’re coming. Lily will be glad to see her _Onkle_ Schneider too!”

 “You’re a lifesaver, Paul,” I replied, patting his shoulder as I settled into the passenger side of his Jeep. He threw my duffle bag into the back along with his own, chattering a mile a minute to his wife, half bouncing up and down with happiness. His cheer was infectious, and within moments I felt a lot better. The good feelings lasted the rest of the day and into the morning; we were chattering like magpies as he drove me back into downtown to pick up my car. We lingered there for a couple moments, discussing the “walking the dogs” part of the video, when Paul said softly, “I saw the looks you and Reesh were giving each other. It’s probably not any of my business but…”

 “It’s _not_ any of your business Paul,” I grumbled. He gave me his patented “lost puppy” look and of course, as I had always done, I crumbled underneath it. “Oh what the fuck. If you tell anyone what I’m going to tell you, I’ll deny it, then I’ll string you up by your kidneys.”

 “I knew it!” Paul laughed, gently punching my shoulder. “I fucking _knew_ it! You’ve got it bad for Reesh, don’t you? Oh, this is great! I knew it!”

 I almost slapped Paul for nearly shouting but settled for stepping on his feet. “Keep your voice down, damn it!” I snarled. “And how long have you suspected that I’ve been moping over Richard?”

 A crafty look appeared in Paul’s eyes and he grinned evilly at me. “Oh, for those who cannot see to have eyes…” he snickered. “I’ve suspected it for a few years. He’s mentioned that he thinks you’re pretty when he’s almost too drunk to move, so…”

 I swatted at Paul, who ducked nimbly under my hand. “Hey, I can’t help it if you two are too stupid to see that you like each other more than friends!” he protested. “Hell, Caron saw it, why do you think your name was mud around her?”

 Groaning, I managed to shove Paul aside and flop back down into the passenger seat of his car, my head in my hands. “Lovely. Just fucking lovely. I hope this isn’t some phase he’s going through, like he did with dating only redheads for a while.”

 “It’s not a phase, Christoph,” Paul said, squatting down next to me. “Reesh told me years ago that he was bi, but women were more interesting to him at that time. Believe me, he really does care for you. He’s just…he’s afraid you’ll stop being his friend if he admits that he wants you for more than friends.”

 I wanted to scream and throw things, but I managed to keep my cool. I scrubbed my face with hands that only shook a little and clambered out of Paul’s Jeep. “Please don’t say anything to anyone, all right? This is something Richard and I have to deal with.”

 Paul gave me a hug and said, “You’d better talk to him and soon. He’s not going to wait forever.”

 It was almost four years before we got the nerve up to say anything to the other about how we felt. Richard and I went through girlfriends, he had another daughter with a pretty lady that I’d tried to be envious of but couldn’t, and I…drifted. I wanted to settle down, wanted to have a stable home life of some kind, but none of the women I met caught my attention well enough to think past serious dating. Things might have gone on that way forever had something not happened that made Paul spill the beans.

 We were in Denver, doing a two night show in the middle of a long, long schedule of shows with only a day or so in between. Usually our management company had gotten us into the city a couple of days early so we could get used to the radical change in altitude, but for some reason they didn’t, and we were all suffering from it. Ollie wasn’t too badly affected and neither was Till, but the rest of us were in different stages of what Paul called “wanting to die and can’t.” The breathlessness, tiredness and nausea dragged us down; normally we’d be a little more rested and could have fought the side effects of being so high up but not this time. I was the sickest of all, spending any time I wasn’t needed to play curled up in a corner, scarfing down anti-nausea and anti-vertigo medicines like they were going out of style, and praying none of this misery would be an invitation for one of my skull splitter migraines to come visit.

 And of course, we couldn’t stay somewhere else lower down and just fly in, it was too expensive. Even Till’s exploding over a trans-Atlantic phone call at management did nothing. I’d finally begged him to quit trying to piss people off and had asked that I be left alone to sleep unless I was needed. He’d agreed, but only after I’d agreed to have Paul room with me instead of Ollie to keep an eye on me. Which wasn’t a problem, even if he could be a bit over-mothering at times.

 It was the afternoon of our second night when I woke up to the sounds of Paul speaking harshly to someone, his voice a soft but angry hissing growl.  “If you go in there and wake him up, shithead, I’m gonna kill you,” he snapped. “It’s a fine time for you to suddenly decide you need to spill your guts!”

 I opened my eyes and rolled over in bed, wondering if I should get up and see who Paul was chewing out. I started to slide out from under the covers when Richard’s just as angry reply came to my ears. “I’m not going to go in there and wake him up, Paul! And if you knew how he felt about me, why didn’t you tell me until now?”

 “Because he asked me not to, Richard!” Paul replied. “Jesus jumping Christ on a cracker, you can be so fucking dense. That boy in there has been carrying a torch for you since I don’t know when, and you never saw it.”

 “Yes I did! I didn’t want to assume he felt the same way about me! That would have been wonderful, telling Chris that I was half stupid in love with him, and for him not to feel the same way. It would have made being in the band hard enough, but it would have done our friendship in. I’ve been his friend for way too long to lose his friendship.”

 From the thudding of feet outside my bedroom door, I could tell Richard was pacing a hole in the carpet and Paul was more than likely sitting up on the back of the couch, staying out of his way. I had to smile at the vision because everyone, even Till, got their feet out of the way when Richard took a pacing fit. However, my lighter mood didn’t last for it was at that second the migraine I’d been dreading came on like a runaway truck. I barely made it to the bathroom to throw up, and it took every last bit of energy I had to stay up on my knees and not pitch face first into the toilet. When I was done, I slid down onto the cool, tiled floor, dreading the next bout of nausea because I knew I didn’t have any strength left to move.

 “Chris? Schneider? Are you…shit!”

 “Fuck, Richard, don’t yell!” I snapped, covering my eyes with my hands. “And turn the damn light out! I’m having a migraine, don’t panic.”

 I might as well have saved my breath. Richard went pounding out of my room, which made my head hurt worse, and when he returned with both Paul and Till, I was debating if I should let them baby me or beat the shit out of them. I wasn’t given a chance to decide, for Till scooped me up like I weighed nothing and deposited me back in my bed, ordering Paul to dig out the little bottle of migraine medicine I kept for an emergency like this. Richard was at my side a moment later with a bottle of water; I went to take it from him but he said, “I’ll hold on to it. You’ll drop it and get soaking wet. And don’t give me that look down your nose, _Frau_ Schneider, I’m immune to that.”

 I almost choked on the tiny capsule Till handed me at Richard’s words and the glare he shot me. I managed to get it down, clinging to the bottle of water even as Richard kept his word and hands around it, but when I was done I spluttered, “What look?”

 “Tell you later. Now, lie down and let that medicine do its work,” Richard replied, fussing with the blankets until I laid down, muttering that I was going to strangle him someday. Once I was settled to his liking, he pulled a chair over to my side and sat down, a tired, almost sad look on his face.

 “This probably isn’t the best time to ask,” he murmured after a few moments, obviously being considerate of the pounding in my head. “But I can’t…Christoph, uhm…how long have you had feelings for me?”

 Wriggling a hand out from under the blankets, I grabbed Richard’s hand and squeezed it gently. “A very, very long time,” I said softly. “And in varying degrees of like, lust, and annoyance too.”

 Richard laughed softly and said, “Me too. Do you think we could give it a try? Us being together? If you don’t want to I understand.”

 Rolling over on my side, I gently kissed Richard’s knuckles, then said, “If my brains weren’t melting out of my ears, I’d kiss you properly. Of course I’m willing to give it a try.”

 Richard’s smile lit up the room like a spotlight. I wiggled over in bed, careful not to move so much that I’d trigger a fit of nausea and held my arms out. “I’d like a cuddle, if you’ve got the time.”

 “For you, my dear Christoph, I have all the time in the world,” Richard replied as he kicked his boots off and made himself comfortable next to me. He slid an arm around my neck and snuggled me into his side, draping the blankets back over me until I was in a little shroud of darkness. He kissed the top of my head and murmured, “Go to sleep sweetheart. I’ll be here when you wake up. Hopefully, for a very long time too.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It was snowing the night we went on our first date; do you remember?” Richard murmured into the silence. “I don't know what made me more nervous, the roads being awful or that we were dating for real.”

The lovers cuddled for a time in silence, the sound of snow hissing down against the living room window the only noise in the quiet room. The lights from their Christmas tree  were the only lights in the room now that Richard had shut the lamps off. Wrapped underneath the quilt that Christoph had pulled from their bed earlier, they both drifted close to sleep, but not quite there. 

“It was snowing the night we went on our first date; do you remember?” Richard murmured into the silence. “I don't know what made me more nervous, the roads being awful or that we were dating for real.”

 Christoph sighed and snuggled closer, fingers wiggling underneath Richard's t-shirt to caress his stomach. “Oh yeah, I remember! You came staggering into that coffee shop, covered in snow and you had the most aggravated look on your face until you saw me. Then you smiled so big I thought you were gonna burst at the seams.”

 “You looked so wonderful sitting in front of the fireplace,” Richard replied, kissing the top of Christoph's head. “You had on that copper colored sweater Constance got you for your birthday and it made your eyes look so dark green, almost black, I swear it did. I wanted to drag you out of there and kiss you all over, you have no idea.”

 Christoph smiled sleepily and said, “I’m glad we decided to go slowly. If we hadn't, I'm sure Till would have had more to say than he did.”

 “ _I_ could have killed him at the time for being a nag but he was right in the end,” Richard said. “I was so mad at him though at first. Then when it hit me that he didn't want to see either of us hurt, that the band's future wasn't even in the equation. I could have kissed him.”

 “You and me both, dearheart. You and me both.”

 :::

 

**_“_ ** **_RICHARD ZVEN KRUSPE, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR EVER-LOVING MIND?_ ** **_”_ **

 I'd barely had a chance to say more than 'hello' that freezing Fall afternoon when my mobile rang. I'd just finished up putting the towels up in the linen closet when I heard the tone I'd assigned to Till. Frowning in confusion, because I'd talked to him just the night before and he'd mentioned he was getting ready to go on a fishing trip in Iceland, I shut the closet door and sprinted for the living room where I'd left my phone on the charger.

 “Till? What the hell are you going on about?” I asked, holding the phone away from my ear else I'd go deaf from his bellowing.

 “I just talked to Christoph and he said you two had gone out on a date, just you two and no other couples, like with maybe Paul and Arielle? I thought you two were going to, and I quote, “take it very slow.” That's not going slow!”

 “Oh fuck, Till, we just met up for coffee and lunch,” I replied, plopping down on the sofa. “It was kind of a date but not. It's not like we're fucking or anything like that. Yet.”

 I had to assume the spluttering, babbled noise that came from the other end of the line was Till trying not to scream at me like a fishwife. Out of everyone in the band, he'd been the one who'd been the most unsettled by us finally doing more than staring at each other. Since that awful night in Denver where Christoph had been so sick and I'd ended up sleeping in the same bed as he did, since then Till had been like my mother, insisting that we take it slowly, that we almost act the way we would if one of us had been a girl. Christoph had tried to joke about it, saying he was better at being a girl than I was, which had made me laugh but Till glared at him and said, “If you two don't behave, I'll...I'll do something!” We'd laughed at him, but do you know that a tiny throw pillow hurts when you're walloped over the head with it by one of your very irritated, very strong, best friends?

 “Till, you're being an idiot. Chris and I are grown-ups, we've been through all this shit before, and we're not going to do anything to jeopardize the band. So settle down before you get an ulcer. I thought you were going to Iceland, why are you calling me?”

 There was silence down the line for almost a moment; I thought the connection had been broken when Till finally said in a very small voice, “I don't want to see you two going through hell like you've had to in the past. You're family, and when you hurt, so do I.”

 I had no real answer to that, so I said, softly, “Thank you, Till. Don't worry, all right?”

 “I...okay. Listen, my flight's here, I'll be back in a couple weeks. Behave yourself, Reesh.”

 When I hung up, I had a smile on my face. So few people knew what a soft heart Till had underneath that battle-scarred, flame-toughened exterior, and that he was as concerned as he was about Chris and I spoke volumes about our relationship. When I told Christoph the story a couple days later, he'd laughed himself sick at our gruff, tough and stoic singer suddenly acting like our chaperons.

 I hadn't lied to Till; we hadn't had sex yet even though the temptation was there and difficult to ignore. We were able to restrain ourselves to intense kissing, hands clutching and caressing places that made us ache, but the need for us to lose our minds in the wild dance of lovemaking was becoming painful. We might have gone on for a year aching for one another and not doing a thing had I not started to have my old nightmares again.

 We were at the beginning of the “Made In Germany” tour and as usual, I was bunking with Till until the arrangements settled out to where I was sharing a room with Chris, and Till was paired up with Flake, while Ollie and Paul shared a room. I was worried the changes would cause some hard feelings but I was (gladly) wrong. Every time I met their eyes, I'd get a big smile and in Paul's case, a whispered, “Have you two done it yet?” which meant I walloped him with whatever was at hand.

 “It's not like I'm trying to get him pregnant!” I'd hissed one evening when Paul had been teasing me all afternoon. He laughed at me and said, “You're worse than some people I know. If you two don't have crazy monkey sex before long, Chris' head is going to explode. Or something else will explode.”

 We’d played a hard, long show that night and thankfully there was no meet and greet for afterwards to attend to, so we’d all trooped offstage, into the showers and right to the hotel. Ollie was yawning the entire time, and we hadn’t been in the shuttle to the hotel more than five minutes and he was asleep. Flake wasn’t much better but was managing to stay awake enough to listen to Paul’s hyperactive chatter, while Chris and I curled up like cats and dozed. Till had been talking to Nele on his phone to try and stay awake; I knew from experience he’d barely make it into his room before flopping down on the bed and snoring like a freight train.

 Chris woke me up by tapping me gently on the nose---it didn’t hurt but it was irritating as hell and when I cracked an eye open, I glared at him, saying, “Someday I’m gonna bite that finger off.”

 “Promises, promises. We’re here, so if you’ll be so nice to get your pretty butt out of my lap and your legs out of Paul’s rib cage, we can go to bed,” he teased. Paul shoved my feet to the floor, saying, “It’s a good thing you don’t kick in your sleep, or at least you didn’t just now. I remember how much those damn feet of yours hurt when you take a kicking spell.”

 I made a noise that passed as a reply and tugged my backpack out of the back of the shuttle van, eyelids at half-mast and trudging along behind Flake. He was talking softly to Paul, who was showing him something on his camera, while Ollie loomed over them both, adding his own commentary in a sleepy voice. Till was leaning on the hotel desk, flirting with the pretty night manager, and Chris was sitting on the edge of a huge potted plant, watching them with a grin. I stopped next to him and muttered, “The man could be one foot in the grave dead and he'd still be chasing a woman.”

 “Like we didn't once upon a time?” Chris replied with a choked snort-laugh. “Come on baby, let's go to bed. We have tomorrow off and I intend to spend most of it in bed with you.”

 “That's the best thing I've heard all day,” I said, shouldering my backpack and meandering across the lobby behind Chris. Our room was at the end of a very, very long hall, and by the time we got there, we were almost staggering. I leaned on the wall while Chris ran the key-card through the reader, and once inside I slung my backpack across the floor where it crash-landed against the couch. I flopped gracelessly onto the bed with a long-drawn out groan; Chris joined me a moment later, resting his head on my shoulder with his own grunt.

 “Either we’re getting older or that was the longest show we've played in a long, long time,” he sighed, breathe hot on my neck. “I think my arms are gonna fall off.”

 “Same,” I managed to reply; I was almost too tired to speak. As much as I wanted to lie there, I knew if I didn't get up and get under the covers, I'd fall asleep and wake up stiff and achy. I gently poked Chris in the ribs until he got up, protesting, and we stripped out of our clothes, crawling naked into bed because we were too tired to put anything else on. We hadn't turned any lights on, so neither of us had to get up, and I was asleep before I could kiss Chris goodnight.

 And that's when the nightmare came roaring out of my subconscious.

  _“_ _Richard? Reesh! Baby, wake up, it's all right, it's just a bad dream, come on, wake up for me, please!_ _”_

  _That voice. That husky, musically-accented voice that belongs to the man I love, the man who's been one of my best friends forever, calls me out of the nightmare that has dragged me into a hell I wouldn_ _’_ _t wish on anyone, lifts me out of the dark and into the light..._

 I threw my arms around Christoph's neck and sobbed once, hard. He pulled me against him as he lay back on his pillows, rocking me in his arms and letting me cry. I hadn't had one of my nightmares in a long time, and this one had to be one of the worst I'd had yet. As I'd gotten older, the nightmares had tapered off but when I had one, they reduced me to a sobbing, sick mess. And oh, I hated that...or I used to. Curled in my sweetheart's arms, any shame I had over being so unmanly vanished. I wept until my eyes swelled, wept until I was dry as a bone and exhausted. And through it all, Chris held me, murmured that he loved me, that I was all right and that he wouldn't ever leave me, wiped my tears and when I was done, found a box of tissues for me to blow my nose on.

 “I look horrible,” I croaked, throwing a huge wad of wet tissues into the nearby wastebasket.

 “No you don't, lovey,” Chris replied, smoothing my hair out of my eyes and kissing my nose. “You're beautiful no matter what you look like. No matter what you'll always be beautiful to me.”

 “So says the man who's gorgeous in a dress or in a thousand dollar suit,” I said, crawling out of bed and making my way to the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face, half drowning myself in the process, and when I looked up, Chris was standing in the doorway, green-blue eyes dark with worry.

 “Do you want to talk about it?” he said softly, reaching out to stroke my arm. I clasped his hand in mine and shook my head. “No, it’s the same nightmare as always and I’ve told you about that. When I don’t have one for a long time, the one that eventually comes up in my brain is a bad one.”

 “I’m sorry love,” Chris replied, pulling me into his arms so I could lay my head on his chest. The sound of his heart was so calming and soothing, it had become one of the few things that settled my nerves quicker than any drug or drink I’d ever had. “If I could take those memories away, I’d do it and to hell with the consequences.”

 “I know you would,” I sighed. “They made me who I am today, for better or worse. I just wish they wouldn’t cause a nightmare on the nights I really, really need to get some sleep!”

 “Come on back to bed, then. Do you want anything, like a glass of water or…?”

 “You. I…I want you, Christoph,” I whispered, clinging to him like a vine trying to choke a tree. He went very still in my embrace, barely breathing, then said, “Are you sure, Richard? I mean, I kinda wanted our first time to be all romantic but…”

 “I’m absolutely sure,” I said, the words rushing out almost too fast for me to say them properly. “I mean, we don’t have to fuck…”

 Chris smiled down at me, eyes twinkling in the harsh bathroom light. “Silly Reesh. I’ve carried a little bag with all the things we need with me since before the tour started. I figured if we never got around to…this…I’d just pitch it when I got home. Glad I didn’t give up too soon.”

 The blush that came up my cheeks was so hot, it felt like I was standing right in front of one of the big pyro jets at the front of the stage when it was on full blast. Chris giggled at my attempt to hide my face against his arm, saying, “You’re so fucking cute when you’re embarrassed. I think I should do it more often to see that expression.”

 “Oh shut up, you idiot,” I replied, my own giggles joining Chris’. “I’m not cute. _Paul_ is cute. I’m fucking _gorgeous_.”

 “Now I see who got all the arrogance in your family,” Chris teased back, shutting the bathroom light off and towing me slowly back to bed. Gesturing for me to hop up in bed, he rummaged around in his backpack, pulling a zip-lock bag out of its depths and laying it on the bedside table. I peered at it and saw that yep, there were several condoms and a decent-sized tube of lubricant sealed away inside. Chris opened the bag and spilled the contents out onto the table, then turned to me, hands clenching at the hem of his t-shirt. He opened his mouth, started to speak and stopped, eyes wide as saucers and a flush turning the tips of his ears red.

 “I....uh...I have a confession to make,” he said, looking down at the floor as he twisted one leg around the other. My stomach dropped as all sorts of awful things came to mind; I started shaking and went cold all over. “What...what is it?” I asked.

 “I've...I've never had...you know...sex...with a guy. Ever.”

 You could have knocked me over with a feather. I stared at Christoph, partially wanting to laugh and partially wanting to faint from relief. Biting down on the laughter that was threatening to spill over, I said, “Never? Not even with a woman and a strap on?”

 “Once, and it wasn't exactly something I wanted to do again,” Christoph muttered, refusing to meet my eyes. “But it doesn't mean I don't want to do it with you!”

 “Oh sweetheart,” I said, finally managing a giggle and not the hysterical howling I wanted to do so badly. I took his hands and kissed the backs of them and said, “Having sex with a real, live cock isn't anything like having sex with a dildo. _Believe_ me, it's not. It can be a lot of fun, yeah, but if you don't know what you're doing, you might as well not even try. So what you're telling me is that for all intents and purposes, you're a virgin, _ja_?”

 And I thought there was nothing left in this world that could embarrass my beloved. Not only did Christoph turn screaming, bright red, he started twisting his fingers together, making them pop and crack like dry twigs. He was tapping his foot on the floor as well, and I was convinced a few seconds longer would see him pop out of existence from being so tightly wound up. He dropped down onto the bed next to me like a sack of concrete falling out of the back of a truck and muttered, “Yes.”

 “Then I'm very honored that I'll be your first,” I said softly, leaning over to kiss the shell of his ear. “And oh, my lovely, sweet Christoph, the things I shall show you...”

 I would have said more but Chris pounced on me and squashed me into the mattress, kissing me so hard I thought he was going to break his teeth on mine. He stretched his long, limber body over mine, capturing my hips between his strong thighs and ground down on me so hard I saw stars. We'd had some intense make-out moments before but this was on a whole different level. All I could do was grab a handful of Chris' shirt and hang on, because he was definitely wanting to drive. We eventually managed to get out of our clothes, and with only one accident when I elbowed Chris in the stomach trying to get his underwear off, and once we were naked, we lay sprawled out on the bed, panting and staring at each other like a pair of stunned ducks.

 “How much sleep do you want to get tonight?” I purred, rolling over on my side to nibble a line up Chris' rib-cage, making him squeak, then cry out when I closed my teeth gently over a nipple. “We do have tomorrow off, if I remember correctly.” And before he could answer, I slithered up the bed until I had him pinned under me. We writhed together on those cool, soft sheets, hands clenching and stroking, occasionally murmuring something meaningless, then Chris pushed me gently away. His pupils were blown  wide, almost covering the green-blue iris, and his hands were cold and trembling. I knew what he was going to ask, but I was going to wait and hear him say it.

 “Take me.”

 I didn't have to be asked twice. With one final kiss, I got up long enough to collect a condom and the lube from where he'd left them, and dropped them on the bed. Gently patting his knee, I said, “You can either flip over on your tummy or stay on your back at first. Or if you want, you can top. Whichever you want.”

 “I don't know. It's gonna hurt no matter what, right?” Chris said in a small, shaking voice.  I leaned down and kissed him, saying, “It'll hurt a little, but I'm not gonna go at you like you see people do it in a porno. Tell me if anything I do hurts, and we'll stop and try something else, or quit. Okay?”

 “O...okay.”

 Remembering my first time having sex with another man and how it hadn't been all I'd expected, I was extra-careful with every move I made. I used half the tube of lubricant just getting two fingers inside Chris and no more even when he begged for it. He wanted to be ready in seconds, not moments, and watching him twist and shake on the bed, one hand clenching his hair until I thought he was going to pull it out by the roots, the other clamped around my ankle, almost broke my promise not to hurt him and satisfy my own lust. I laved and sucked at his gorgeous cock, something I'd wanted to do to him for so long but I'd been afraid to ask him if I could. By the time Chris was running out of words and breath, I pulled my hand free and made quick work of putting the condom on. Using another huge dollop of lube on myself, I got up on my knees, moved Chris' into what I hoped was a comfortable position for him, and slowly, carefully, began sliding into him.

 What happened next almost killed me. Chris screamed like a dying animal and sunk his fingers into my arms, body arching up and forcing me all the way inside him. The heat, clench and relief at finally, finally making love to him at last stopped my breathing and I'd swear it stopped my heart as well. I couldn't get my brain to cooperate long enough to ask Chris if I was hurting him, all I could do was let my caveman brain dictate to my body what to do. This was what I'd been looking for, this was _who_ I'd been searching for, and I never wanted the moment to end.

 But it had to end, and Chris was the first to get there, tears running down his face and calling my name, praising me, begging me to never stop loving him. I tried to keep from coming but I couldn't, and when I did, the world whited out for several seconds, leaving me light-headed and panting. Managing to pull free of Chris took almost all the strength I had left, getting rid of the condom took the rest. I dropped back onto the bed, completely wrung out, but ever so happy. Chris snuggled up to me, wrapping an arm around my waist and kissing my neck.

 “I love you so much, Reesh,” he whispered against my skin. “I wish we hadn't had to wait so long to be together like this.”

 “No more waiting,” I said, feeling the siren's call of sleep pulling me down. I managed to pull one of the blankets up over us before I tumbled into dreams that were no longer full of pain, shame and fear, but love and light.


	4. Chapter 4

Christmas day dawned cold and clear, the storm having blown itself out sometime late in the night. Richard and Christoph had fallen asleep on the couch, too comfortable in each other’s arms to move to the bed. Thankfully, the couch was more than big enough for them to comfortably lie down together, its softness a siren’s call to curl up in the squishy cushions and drowse. Richard was wrapped around Christoph, one long leg thrown over his partner’s hip and fingers wound into the front of his shirt and nose buried in the back of his neck. Christoph had one arm tucked underneath a pillow while the other dangled out from under the quilt, fingers brushing the carpet below them.

“Unf. Chris, babe, wake up,” Richard groaned softly, gently shaking his lover’s shoulder. “Get up, sweetheart, I gotta piss like now.”

 “Don’t wanna. Crawl over me, _dumnkopf,_ ” Christoph grunted, pulling his hand back beneath the quilt and tucking it underneath him to warm it up. Richard snarled at him, sleepily, and with a shove, rolled Christoph to the floor, quilt and pillows tangled around him. Despite hitting the floor with a gentle “thud,” he didn’t wake up, just burrowed deeper into the quilt and began snoring very softly. Richard didn’t comment on this as he was too intent on his making it to the bathroom before his bladder burst. Once he was finished and cleaned up, he wandered into the kitchen to set the coffee to brewing, leaning sleepily against the counter as he waited for it to finish brewing. Once it was done, he poured out two cups of the cinnamon and cardamom-scented liquid and carefully made his way back to the living room. Spotting Christoph still asleep where he’d left him, Richard placed the coffee cups out of harm’s way in the window and went to kneel next to his lover.

 “Hello, my little burrito,” he called softly, peeling a bit of the blanket away from Christoph’s face so the cooler air of the living room would seep in. “Wake up, it’s Christmas Day and I have coffee…”

 “Don’t care. Sleeping. Go ‘way.”

 “Santa was here last night, grumpy-pants,” Richard teased in a sing-song voice. “Aren’t you going to get up and see what he brought you?”

 “Fuck off. Sleeping. No Santa either,” Christoph growled, grabbing the piece of blanket  Richard was holding and jerked it back over his head.

 “You’re not going to get up even for the special Christmas coffee I got for you?” Richard asked in a hurt tone despite the big grin on his face. If there was one thing he loved about Christoph was his grumpy, child-like demeanor when he was first woken up. He’d had no end of amusement in teasing him in the mornings, even when they were simply friends, despite getting smacked in the back of the head a few times and once having an entire pitcher of ice water flung at him. “Babe, you can’t be comfortable lying on the floor even if you have all the pillows and blankets. Come on, get up and we’ll go to bed properly.”

 “No. Sleeping. Later.”

 Richard gave up trying not to laugh and sprawled across the floor, giggling until he was sore. Christoph finally poked his head out of his nest, curly hair all over his face and forming a halo around his head. He glared at Richard and said, “Not funny. Sleeping!”

 “Oh for…come on, Christoph, get up off the floor or I’m going to drag you either up onto the couch or into bed by your hair. Up, up, up!” Richard said, trying to be stern despite the smile on his face. He managed to taunt and harry his lover up onto the couch, and once Christoph seemed to be awake enough not to spill his coffee, handed him one of the still-steaming mugs and sat down next to him.

 “Thanks,” Christoph muttered a few moments later. He looked at Richard through a thick chunk of his hair and smiled shyly. “ _Guten Morgen_.”

 Richard returned the smile, leaning over to kiss the tip of his nose and lips. “Merry Christmas, dearheart.”

 “Back at you,” Christoph replied, finishing his coffee and setting the mug down on a nearby table. He stretched up, fingers locked over his head, which made his t-shirt ride up and expose a thin slice of stomach. Richard whistled approvingly, leaning down quickly to press a nip and kiss to his ribs, making Christoph laugh and slap him lightly on the shoulder. “I can’t tell you to behave or Santa won’t stop with presents!” he giggled, flopping back into the cushions. Holding his arms out, Christoph bugged Richard until he abandoned his coffee and curled up against him. They sat in silence for a time, watching the sunlight slowly rise up through the living room window until it shone directly on their Christmas tree, setting the ornaments and other baubles to shining brightly.

 “Our first Christmas together,” Richard murmured, breaking the ticking silence. “Well, as a couple. And how many Chrismases as friends?”

 “Hmm. Over twenty or so?” Christoph replied, running his fingers through Richard’s hair. “Doesn’t seem that long, does it?”

 “No, it doesn’t. Sometimes I’ll turn around expecting to see Paul with his bleached out hair up in a topknot and it surprises me that it’s not. Or that you don’t have a Mohawk. Or…or Ollie still has a little bit of hair!”

 Christoph snorted in amusement. “Never, ever let me cut my hair off like that again, please? That was a bitch to grow out, much less keep my head from getting sunburnt!”

 “You looked rather cute in it!” Richard replied with a laugh. “And then we made you chop it all off after we did the LIFAD tour. Wish we hadn’t, you’re so much prettier with long hair.”

 Christoph made a happy noise and snuggled Richard closer. “You like it because you can yank on it when you’re doing me from behind, don’t deny it.”

 Richard’s reply was a stuttered, spluttering snort-laugh of protest. “I was trying to keep this conversation clean, young man! You’re the one with the mind in the gutter all the time, not me!”

 “Heh. Why keep it out of the gutter when it just goes back in?” Christoph purred, pressing soft, light kisses up the side of Richard’s neck. “How about we go into the bedroom and you can unwrap one of your presents?”

 “Is it one I can unwrap over and over again?” Richard said softly, cupping his sweetheart’s chin in his hands. “One that I’ve waited a very long time for?”

 Christoph’s reply was a deep, heated kiss that ended with him nipping gently at Richard’s lower lip. Hand in hand, they made their way to bed to celebrate Christmas in the best way they knew how.

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! Thank you all so much for reading this, the kudos and the comments. I promise there will be more with these two lovebirds in the future.


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